As Time Goes By
by csjr
Summary: Series of drabbles of Martha and Clive through the years. Rated T for mild smut.


**Note:** This is my first attempt at writing drabbles, so not all of them are exactly 100 words long! I borrowed some dialogue from the 301 shooting script for one of the drabbles.

* * *

She passes him on the stairs, almost bumps into him in her hurry to get away. Her interview went well, but now she wants to get out of there quickly before someone realises that she doesn't belong there and tears up her pupillage application.

He quickly stands aside to let her pass. "Thanks," she mutters awkwardly as he flashes her a confident smile. She just has time to register a smart suit, a pair of blue eyes and a spring in his step that makes it seem like he already works there.

She knows she's just seen her competition.

* * *

"So what's she like, the other pupil?"

Clive contemplates this question. "Northern," he says finally.

"What does that mean?" Ed laughs.

"You're not English, you wouldn't understand."

"So, who do you think they're gonna pick?" Ed asks. "You or her?"

"Me, of course. She's only here for political correctness."

"That sounds a little..."

"I'm not saying she's not good," Clive concedes. "But obviously, the main reason she was picked is because of her background. We both know I'm the only real candidate here."

At the door, Martha silently turns and walks back out.

* * *

"You in court today, Marth?" he asks, spotting the brief in front of her and her unusually stressed demeanor..

"Yes. First time in front of a judge, which means Alan's going to be watching. Drink-driving offence."

"Pleading?"

"No, he wants to plead not guilty. Reckons it was his wife driving, even though she was found in the passenger seat with her seatbelt on."

"Good luck with that one."

"You got time for a coffee?"

"Actually, I'm in court today too."

"What are you doing?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Prosecuting a drunk driver."

She looks at him. "_Fuck_."

* * *

His lips seem to be everywhere, his hands roaming down her sides as she runs her fingers through his hair. He reaches down and cups her around the bottom before lifting her on to the bed. Now is the time to say something, to stop this before it goes too far, but she doesn't say anything.

He runs his mouth down her neck and over her skin, making her shiver as he slides the strap of her nightdress down. His other hand travels slowly up her leg, stroking her through her underwear.

This is a really, really bad idea...

* * *

They've barely spoken to each other since it happened. Despite sharing an office, she manages to be out of their room unless Kate or someone else is there for nearly two weeks. But she can't put the conversation off forever. In the end it's him who brings it up, one night when they both have to work late.

"Listen Marth, you don't have to avoid me. We agreed what happened was a mistake, let's put it behind us."

She looks over at where he's sitting. She nods. "Never a good idea, sleeping with a professional colleague."

"So, friends?"

"Friends."

* * *

From a distance he sees a man grasping Martha by the arms, forcing her against the wall. He starts to walk towards them, still confused, but then he hears the man shout out and the menace in his voice is unmistakable, so he breaks into a run, just as the man's fist connects with Martha. The next few seconds pass in a blur, then Martha is running down the stairs, clutching her stomach. He follows her outside and sees her sink on to one of the court steps.

He sits down beside her, strokes her back, tells her everything is going to be fine. He actually believes it himself.

* * *

He wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly until she steps back and smiles, resting a hand on his chest.

"Snog?" he offers hopefully.

She swats him. "Get off!" He laughs and follows her, his arm coming to rest around her shoulders. They walk like that until his arm slides down and he takes her hand, entwining their fingers together. She looks at him and then down at the ground as a giggle escapes her.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing. Just, last time I held hands with a boy, I was in Year 11."

He just smiles and squeezes her hand tighter.

* * *

"I hate you too."

She looks up, startled. The slightly dreamy smile he gives her shows he means the exact opposite. "Who would he have been?" she asks impulsively. "Or she."

"Who?"

"The child we didn't have. Boy? Girl? Astronaut?"

"Police officer?" he suggests. She rolls her eyes and returns to her work. "I think she would have been a girl," he says softly. "Strong and determined, like her mother."

She smiles, feeling tears starting behind her eyes as she recalls their baby moving inside her. "Bet she would have been a handful, like her dad."

* * *

"It's over." He feels slightly defeated, but he also knows that this is the right outcome. "We won't prosecute Fraser."

He waits for her to say something, but she just smiles tenderly at him. She walks over and for a moment he's not sure what she's coming for, until she turns and presses her head against his shoulder, and silently wraps an arm around his waist. He puts his arms around her, wig still in one hand.

"What's this for?" he whispers against her hair.

She lifts her head and smiles up at him. "No reason."

* * *

They meet in a cafe, sitting at a table in the corner, just like when they were pupils. She orders an espresso and he requests a cappuccino. They tiptoe awkwardly around subjects like Chambers, cases and memories of Billy. He's been Head of Shoe Lane for six months now. She's settled at her new chambers in Bolton.

"So, how've you been?" she asks finally.

"I..." He tries to think of an honest answer to that question. _I miss you, I've been fucking miserable without you._ "I'm okay, thanks. You?"

She nods. "I'm okay too."


End file.
